


The Mechanics of Holidays

by tosca1390



Category: Gilmore Girls, West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Thanksgiving with the boyfriend and his family? How very rom-com.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mechanics of Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> So, and I have this bizarre head canon where Rory Gilmore ends up in DC and accidentally runs into Bram from S6/7 of TWW, and they end up dating. This is first referenced in [Cupcakery](http://tosca1390.livejournal.com/266367.html). Now, they get their own fic. So, ta-da. Have some crack.

*

“Thanksgiving with the boyfriend and his family? How very rom-com.”

“Mom,” Rory whined, her cell phone tucked into the crook of her shoulder. She walked circles around her living room, peering out her windows through bare branches. Washington D.C. was grey and cold and damp, and nothing like Connecticut in the autumn. At least Connecticut was colorful. “This is serious.”

“I know it is. It’s writing-him-into-your-will-moving-in serious,” Lorelai said. Rory could hear her smile through the phone. “Don’t you think I should meet this guy?”

“You know what he looks like,” Rory said, toeing textbooks and copies of the Washington Times out of her path as she corned around her couch. 

“The television doesn’t count.”

“It counted when Johnny Depp was your boyfriend from _21 Jump Street_.”

Lorelai huffed into the phone. “Rory, you’re going to this guy’s house for a major holiday, and I still haven’t met him. There is something wrong with this picture. Luke is nearly apoplectic.” 

Rory snorted. “Why?”

“Because he’s Luke and he still thinks you’re nine years old, and he’s worried that all the smooth-talking lawyers are going to Cool-Hand you right out of your dreams and ambitions, and maybe get you thrown in jail for not revealing your sources in a big scandal,” Lorelai said, all warmth and gentle mockery. 

Sighing, Rory ran her fingers along her bookshelves. In her mind she was sorting them, picking and choosing which would come with her for the three days they would be in Boston. “That’s sweet, but totally unnecessary.”

“Well of course it is, but it’s Luke, that’s what he does. Anyway, he wants to meet this guy, and so do I.”

“He works at the White House. It’s not like he can just take off for the weekend. Josh Lyman is his boss. He barely sees daylight,” Rory countered. 

Lorelai sighed. In the background, Rory could hear Michel yammering on, the familiar sounds of the inn, and home. “I get it, I do. But does this mean I have dibs on Christmas?”

“You always have dibs on Christmas, Mom. Santa would never forgive me,” Rory said, collapsing onto her couch. 

“Will you bring—Bram? What kind of name is that?”

Rory sighed. Bram’s mother had her degree in British lit and an odd fascination with Bram Stoker—but Lorelai didn’t need that in her arsenal quite yet. “They’re from New England, Mom.”

“So are _you_.”

“And my name is Lorelai. How popular is that one?”

“Fair point.”

From the front hall, Rory heard the tell-tale turning of her lock, the creak of the front door. She peered over the back of the sofa and smiled at Bram as he strolled in towards the kitchen. He grinned and gave her a little wave before disappearing into the kitchen. The back of her neck flushed hotly. It had been less than six months and he had a _key_. Rory Gilmore was making progress. 

“Hello? Helloooooooooo? Mayday, mayday, the Titanic is going down!” Lorelai rambled into the phone. 

“Yeah?” Rory asked, startled. 

Her mother laughed. “Did something male walk in?”

Rory blushed. “No.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Rory. I adore that about you. Call me from the road. Are you sure you can’t swing by for a little while? It’s on the way,” Lorelai wheedled. 

“He’s got a seventy-two-hour window, and twenty of those hours are going to be spent driving. I don’t think so,” Rory said gently. 

“Well, be careful. And I want full reports on everyone! Especially your new mommy!”

“Goodbye,” Rory groaned before setting aside her phone and stretching out on the sofa. 

“Was that your mom?” Bram called from the kitchen.

She sighed. “Yup.”

“Still mad about you not coming home for Thanksgiving?”

“Not mad,” she said, staring up at the ceiling. Pale grey light lit the room. She curled her fingers into the sleeves of her sweater, picking at pale blue fuzzies. “Disappointed. She wants to meet you.”

Suddenly, Bram appeared above her, hands braced on the back of the sofa. He was taller than Dean, tan and dark-haired and so not what she expected to want, after the boyfriends in her past. But he smiled a lot, and he brought her the best cupcakes in DC (he refused to tell her from where he got them; he said she wouldn’t need him anymore if he did). He liked coffee, and he was nearly as smart as Jess. And he took care of her, without it feeling as if she was being smothered; it was nice, and comfortable. She found herself thinking ahead, past grad school and the White House, with him at her side. That was slightly terrifying, but also somewhat heartwarming. 

“Most parents do,” he said with a grin, teeth white and perfect. 

Making a face, she slapped at his hands. “Don’t get cocky. She’s a tough cookie. She really hasn’t liked any of my boyfriends.”

“And that’s just what I need to hear. Thanks.”

She smirked. “Just wait until you meet my stepfather.”

He moved around to the end of the sofa. At his look, she lifted up her legs and he sat at the other end. She promptly laid her ankles across his lap. “The famous Luke.”

“Hates politicians.”

“Ah, but I’m a New Englander before anything else. Is he a Red Sox fan?” he asked, laying his large hands on her bare feet. His skin was warm against her cool toes, his fingers curving around the fine bones of her ankles. 

Rory raised her eyebrows. “Sports? Loves them. He took my mom to a baseball game once. She brought me back a t-shirt and a foam finger.”

“Is that the extent of your sports knowledge?” he teased. 

“What more is there?” she retorted. 

Bram sighed, dragging his fingers under the hem of her jeans. She shivered, heat pooling in her middle. “Rory, you do realize my family lives in Boston, right?”

“I believe you mentioned it once or five times, yes,” she teased. 

“My dad and his brothers are mechanics. They run their own shop. They live and die with New England sports. And we’ll be watching football all day on Thursday,” he said seriously. 

Shifting towards him, she tilted her head to the side. “It’s on all day?”

The look he gave her was absolute disbelief. She stifled a laugh. “What do you do on Thanksgiving that you don’t know about all the football?”

She shrugged. “Three dinners. Multiple desserts. Turkey decorating. A few board games if we’re up to it. Eating dinner rolls until we pass out.”

He shook his head. “Incredible.”

“Hey! This coming from the guy who hasn’t read Dorothy Parker or G. R. R. Martin,” she groused. 

“I was busy reading Torts and helping a president get elected,” he retorted. 

“And gelling your hair,” she teased. “The prettiest boy in the Santos administration.”

Mouth twisting in a frown, Bram leaned in towards her. “I think Sam will take a little umbrage with that.”

She smiled slowly, sitting up and straddling his lap. “I said _boy_ , not _man_ ,” she teased, skin flushing. 

He lifted a hand to the curve of her throat, fingers trailing along the bare skin revealed by her neckline. “I think you’ll find me all man, Gilmore,” he said, voice rough around the edges. Behind the smooth tone she could hear snatches of a Boston accent, just around the vowels. 

Shutting her eyes, she kissed him with a smile. His mouth was warm, and he tasted of that terrible West Wing coffee he complained about constantly. He had tried to sneak her into the bullpen to have her make the coffee once or twice, but apparently Josh had a fit or two. Sam would get her in, Bram had said, once Bram proved he could keep her. 

She was sure that day was soon. 

Bram licked into her mouth, his hands smoothing along the line of her body towards her hips. His fingers hooked into the waist of her jeans, teasing the skin under her sweater. 

“We should be packing,” she murmured, breathless. 

He chuckled and pressed her into the sofa cushions instead. 

It was three hours before they even thought about suitcases. 

*


End file.
